


Undertow

by FangZ



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Denial, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Lies, Psychoanalysis, Psychological, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-05 00:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11566512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangZ/pseuds/FangZ
Summary: Kyo makes a mistake during a concert and later realizes that the punishment he gets for this might not end very soon. But that depends on a number of factors, including himself.I should mention THERE ARE NO PAIRINGS IN THIS STORY. This is an attempt at some sort of self-psychoanalysis, so if psychological stuff doesn't interest you or if mentions of self-harm trigger you, don't bother.I don't claim to have any kind of relevant insight regarding Kyo's (or any other member's) thoughts or behavior. The way I portray them is purely the way I see them, with changes made to fit the story better.THE STORY IS SET AROUND 2008-2009.





	1. Incision

**Author's Note:**

> “The word ‘rune’ carries a lot of different meanings. So, for me it is important to come as close to that meaning as possible with my music. […] Everything, to sort of… enhance, and maybe try to catch some of that energy that it represents.”  
> (Einar Kvitrafn Selvik, main vocalist and instrumentalist of Wardruna)

The venue we were playing in was not exactly sizeable and as the concert went on, I could feel the suffocating hot air pressing against my body uncomfortably like the bars of an invisible cage. But we could not dare disappoint a crowd that was providing us with such energy and motivation. Truth be told, we have always appreciated our foreign fans in a more or less special way. Sometimes it wouldn’t make a difference if I kept singing or just stopped; they would still be singing our lyrics as if they were part of Dir En Grey themselves—which was, to some extent, true. Certainly, their Japanese was far from perfect, but to take a moment and look your fans in the eye, to see them looking back at you, to discover the admiration and love in their eyes while they’re singing your lyrics aloud, all at once, in a language most of them don’t even speak, banging their heads and moving to the rhythm of your music… to hear them screaming their lungs out and then see them looking at you hoping you would hear them out and acknowledge their devotion… There is hardly anything I could ever compare this feeling with. And the more I try to, the more I become convinced it was never _meant_ to be compared to anything.

> “Kill the voice, cover your eyes  
>  Drown in the darkness and roam around  
>  Your sharp voice in my chest  
>  All in the darkness…”

I temporarily finished my part and stepped off the metal platform. Now the spotlights were all on Kaoru. It wouldn’t be long before the public turned their attention back to me, but at least for a few moments, I could draw my breath. I saw cellphones and cameras immediately focusing on our lead guitarist to capture his performance and at once I knew I could finally retreat, even if just for a little while. I stepped back to the left of Shinya’s drum set where the lights weren’t so bright. Then I reached into my right pocket.  


It was there, brand new and sharp. I unwrapped it quickly; though I knew Kaoru would stretch his solo to be able to exhibit his guitar skills appropriately, there still wasn’t much time.  


It wasn’t that I thought the lyrics were not genuine enough, nor that the audience might be as dense as to not be able to understand them. And it was not for attention either. My friends? If I had to resort to such things just to draw their attention, certainly, that would mean they were not truly my friends to begin with. Our fans? Never. I would like to believe Dir En Grey does not need this to be relevant on stage. It wasn’t even about us, honestly. Rather, I felt the need to be selfish at times. After the first few times I’d done it, I found it was a habit that I couldn't very easily give up on.  


The first one was fast and sloppy. Ridiculous. I almost felt ashamed of it, and even wondered if it would leave as much as a thin mark the next day.  


The second time, more precise. Bolder; close.  


And then the third time it went deeper, faster. It was perfect, I knew it would work. I knew it would feel _right_. So I continued, just a few more times, trying to achieve the same result even in spite of my hand trembling.  


I felt it all over again. It was hot and electric and throbbing across five or six red lines on my arm, visibly of different width. Never before had the pain been so intense. It was pure and real, not dulled by alcohol or drugs. And with it came back many memories, so realistic that for one second I thought my mind left my body and travelled back through time. And though I was still on the same stage and about to go back right in front of the audience, I felt as if something had been stirred up within me. Old feelings, almost unrecognizable up until then, which possessed me, changed me to become my own older self, to recreate that exact sensation which I sought to convey.  


My nerves were going completely insane. A sharp blade can inflict a great deal of pain even if the cut is as thin and shallow as not to be seen at all. Just one, very soft slash and you can feel it. It’s as if it keeps cutting into your skin even minutes after it made contact. And the next day, the red marks can certainly prove it. So there is some caution to be taken when using sharp objects—preferably, by using a dull blade, one can avoid going any further than intended.  


It was not a new experience for me. I did not have to look up to see Shinya occasionally darting quick glances at me while making sure he would not miss the beat in the process. I know he worries. All four of them do. But they trust me. They have faith in me and I would never want to disappoint them—or myself.  


No sooner had Kaoru finished his solo than I got back up on the platform with my right hand clutching the microphone and the other slightly shaking from the pain that took over my arm, which had just begun to bleed quite visibly. Now there was another form of energy that I was feeding on. If I hadn’t known myself, I would have even said that I was not the same person anymore. And arguably, that would have been correct. On one hand, I was not _me_. Not my current self, but who I had been once. I was the one who suffered, the one who wrote those lyrics. And I came back that night to make my voice heard, finally, to lay myself bare before them all for an instant and then let my true self get the praise—or suffer the consequences.  


_‘Steady now…’ I thought to myself, clearing my throat._  


Then, I began.

> “The unstoppable rain, the unstoppable sound, the unstoppable scar”

_‘Almost there…’_  


It took a decent amount of conscious effort to prevent my voice from shaking from the excitement, but I was close. It would happen soon, at last.

> “The unstoppable love, the unstoppable song...”

_‘Now, go on.’_  


The instruments stopped all at once. Just for a split second, the whole venue went so silent you could almost hear the heartbeat of the person standing next to you. I grabbed the microphone with both hands, closed my eyes and let it take control entirely.  


I then let out a scream, raspy and so loud and chilling that, although I felt a very strange warmth quickly running through my body, from my head all the way down to my toes, I could feel my own skin crawl at the sound of my own twisted voice. The cry echoed through the entire place and clearly, the emotion got through to the public, as I saw them closing their eyes, lifting up their fists and screaming along with me.

> “I can't stop it anymore!"

Then followed the second cry, even more painful and shattering than the first. The sensation was out of this world. I felt as if my heart was on the verge of bursting out of my chest, like an unseen force was about to rip my body apart… like nothing even mattered from then on, because I had finally achieved my goal. Gazing at the ceiling with the cords on my neck standing out, pulsating madly, I continued, more softly.

> “I can't handle it anymore…”

And as though trying to brush off the effects of a deep trance, I involuntarily shook my head a few times as I opened my mouth to repeat the chorus, with my voice still shaky from the screaming and the pain that gave no signs of lessening.

> “Kill the voice, cover your eyes  
>  Drown in the darkness and roam around  
>  I won’t depend on anyone anymore
> 
> Kill the voice, cover your eyes  
>  Drown in the darkness and roam around  
>  Your sharp voice in my chest…”

It was strange, how all of a sudden I felt weakened. I figured, as I prepared to end the song, that it was only natural, considering the energy I had put into those two cries alone.  


It mattered little, though. I was satisfied.

> “All in the darkness…  
>  How ironic this bright morning is  
>  Good morning…  
>  Good morning!”

As the final instrumental sections could be heard, I stood there, staring up into nothingness, my arms spread out as if I was begging to be taken away from mortal existence by some hypothetical god. The blood oozing from the recent cuts ran smoothly down my arm and reached my palm. Trying to ignore the heat which seemed to grow more upsetting with every second, I put two fingers to the wounds and licked some of the blood, then smeared the rest all over my mouth. A staff member quickly came over to me with bandages and insisted that I let him tend to my cuts before we continued. Though I appreciated his concern, I waved him away, explaining that all was fine and I had everything under control. The song had ended and all that could be heard for a few seconds was the crowd’s clapping and cheering before Shinya, followed by the others, started playing again.  


_The final_ , ironically, was the last song on the setlist. The beginning went quite smoothly and though the show was nearing its end, the crowd looked as lively and excited as they did when we first walked on stage. That was no surprise, however, since this song was so popular among old and new fans, and Toshiya seemed to enjoy the concert even more than before, playing his bass eagerly during the first verse and smiling childishly as if he was feeding on the audience’s tirelessness.  


To my shame, I was glad it was our last song. The last few ones— _Kodou_ especially—had relatively drained me of my remaining energy. The lights had truly started to hurt my eyes and despite me not even wearing a shirt I felt as if the air in the hall was hardly breathable at that point. I looked around and I didn’t know why the others seemed just fine; I thought I was going insane for a moment. And as my entire body was practically soaked in sweat I almost failed to notice that, on my left thigh area, the fabric of my jet black jeans was already gleamed a little with blood that was still dripping from my arm. I had long grown accustomed to the constant stinging and burning sensation. Though I would continuously feel the pain, there were moments when I would just happen not to acknowledge its existence. And despite the fact that this time it was more intense than ever before, somehow I still managed to ignore it in favor of my performance.  


I sang the chorus, more or less giving signs of fatigue as I stepped off the platform I was standing on and walked towards the middle of the stage. Perhaps the thing which made it most difficult for me to keep singing was, quite shockingly, the blood which I could still taste on my tongue. It was unusual. For some strange reason, I could not manage to get rid of the metallic taste in my mouth, no matter how many times I swallowed between words; and it made me sick to my stomach. It made me feel nauseous and it felt as if my head and stomach would keep hurting until I would eventually throw up. Then, struggling to maintain my coherence and perform decently until the end of the chorus, I had to put my left hand to my eyes to stop the stage lights from blinding me. But stumbling upon my own feet, I found my shaking left arm so weak that I did not even have the strength in it to keep it up.

The next thing that I remember is being back in the tour bus, lying in my bunk. I felt numb and very tired and not even fully awake, like I could fall back asleep any second from then on. The bus was moving. Of that I was certain, and the fact that I felt ill did not improve my situation at all. Somewhere back in the car, someone seemed to be playing _The Final_ on his laptop. I was never one to listen to our own music for pure pleasure after releasing it. Often, its sound became boring and even absolutely annoying. And it was no surprise—anyone who would have to listen to the same lyrics, the same riffs and hear the same rhythm hundreds of times would definitely begin to dislike that song by the time it was finished and ready for release. However, this time, something made me _hate_ it. Die’s and Kaoru’s distorted guitars sounded like long nails scratching a chalkboard repeatedly. Also, I could not remember any time Shinya’s snare drum and cymbals sounded so much like a drunk Lars Ulrich drumming on a kit made of garbage cans. And worst of all, the sound of Toshiya’s bass was pounding so violently against my ears and in the back on my throat that, for a second, I thought I was going to vomit before I’d even get the chance to get up.  


After that, I noticed that something was out of place. The second verse was supposed to start. I could hear the instrumental part, but did not know why it kept repeating itself. The same riffs, same drum and bass lines, over and over again. Yet, my own voice I could not perceive. My stomach tensed and twisted. It was almost scary.  
Then, I looked up and, to my shock, saw a dark blue, almost black roof. Powerful and colorful lights. Only then did I notice that my head and entire body were resting upon something rigid and by no means a pillow and mattress. I do not even know how much time I had spent lying on my back in this position. The others were likely stretching the beginning instrumental section of the second verse, hoping I would get back up and sing.  


Not a chance. My body felt as heavy as lead and in the back of my head I could feel a burning heat, similar to a fever symptom, only much worse. My vision was blurry and my hearing was heavily muffled. I saw someone coming over to me and asking me if I could continue, if I could even see him or talk to him. He shook me and gently slapped me across the face—a pointless approach to which I failed to respond. I could feel a faint touch or grip at my shoulders, but nothing definite. If anything, my body felt excessively hot and cold at the same time and, though I could not tell for sure, I had the feeling I had suddenly started to hyperventilate.  


When the man above me realized I could not respond coherently, I saw him looking back, likely calling over to someone else for help. Soon enough, another person came near me and started to bandage my left arm quickly—and quite recklessly, as I could figure. It was not long before I heard the instruments stopping, one after another.  
Sadly, what happened from that point on until I passed out for the last time that night I can hardly remember. At best, I am only able to recall several things which happened as I was drifting in and out of conscience.  


I do not recall the moment I was picked up and carried off the stage, but I still have in mind the pale yellow walls of the corridor that lead backstage to our dressing rooms. The staff members who were carrying me struggled to make it as quickly as possible to a place where they could drop me off. Looking behind the man who was holding my legs, I could distinguish more people starting to catch up.  


“Holy fuck, what happened over there? Kaoru!”  


“Hurry up, open—“  


“—the hell happened, Kaoru?!”  


“Move, move, come on!”  


“I don’t know, I didn’t see, he’s—“  


“—all pale, fuck—“  


“–somebody, open the door!”  


“—HIS ARM, JUST—“  


“Careful, don’t—“  


I believe I only blacked out for a very short while. After this, I found myself lying on a small sofa. There were quite a few people around me in the small room—people whose faces I could not make out due to my very unclear vision.  


“—look, look! He’s—“  


“Get back, leave him room to breathe!”  


The last one was most certainly a staff member, since his voice only seemed remotely familiar, and he certainly saw me opening my eyes, but after finding that my state was too severe for me to understand and answer his questions with anything besides unintelligible mumbles, he turned his attention to attempting to stop my arm from bleeding further while speaking with the other people behind him.  


“Has he had enough to eat before the show?”  


“Uh, I don’t… I mean, I… I think—“ This voice was heavily trembling, but I was positive it was Die. Everyone was in shock, as I could tell.  


“… Not much, no…” Kaoru was clearly having difficulty speaking clearly. Seeing as how even he was this panicked, that did not leave me much room for optimism. “He, uhm… he had something to eat a f-few hours ago, like, at… noon… and… and… I asked him, before the concert… i-if he wasn’t hungry and… he said it was fine and—“  


I could not hold it back anymore. Suddenly, I felt like I was choking, and the next instant I could faintly feel sort of dense, warm liquid running down my bare chest. I closed my eyes in disgust. I did not have to look down to know what it was.  


“Fuck, someone bring—“  


Instantly, the strong acrid smell reached my nostrils and caused me to gag again. In a few seconds, both my body and the sofa I was on were covered in vomit. The odor was so pungent I thought I was going to throw up again, but I knew at that point my stomach was practically empty.  


“—Toshiya, clean him up before he pukes again…”  


“Shit, Kyo… what’s going on with you, man?”  


“Motherfucker… where’s the damn ambulance?”  


“… Just hang in there, you hear me? We’re here.” Toshiya reassured me as he managed to clean up my mouth, chest and stomach as much as he could.  


“—WHAT THE FUCK’S TAKING SO LONG?!”  


“Stop freaking out, you’re not helping him—“  


The regurgitation weakened me again, making me lose consciousness for a third time—most probably just a few minutes. When I woke up, I saw that my surroundings had not changed, yet realized that my sight and hearing were already beginning to dull again and the yelling and shouting of the people around me, indeed, did not help my condition. The medics happened to enter the room just then, and immediately laid me on the stretcher. They had carried me out of the building before I could even realize it. In my last few moments of lucidity, I could discern Die and Kaoru arguing as I was being loaded into the ambulance.  


“—stay here and I’ll go!”  


“Daisuke, fucking let me pass already! I told y—“  


“Calm down, Kaoru!”  


“Just let him go, he’ll be fine!”  


I automatically assumed the last two voices belonged to Toshiya and Shinya, though I’d started having trouble understanding their words altogether. I was already starting to drift off. I saw the paramedics and Die climbing into the back of the ambulance. Very soon, I passed out again, but not before looking my band mate straight in the eye—and starting to feel even more scared myself when seeing his panicked expression.


	2. Coagulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The song (i.e., ‘Haifisch’) is, really, about how we can’t make it work without one another; that the band only exists with the six of us and is strong because of that; that we support and look out for each other and are only as strong as the weakest link.”  
> (Christoph Schneider, drummer of Rammstein)

“—that he won’t work under these conditions and then, lemme tell you, he—“

“Okay, no. Kaoru? Calm down. Look, everyone knows how much of a bitch he is, just… we’ll just talk to him later and if he’s still mad, then to hell with him. It’s his loss.”

“But dammit, I wanted… Ah, I could have kicked the shit out of him, if… believe me, if you hadn’t been there, I would’ve—“

“Alright, alright, dude, calm down. Stop stressing yourself over that. Like Shinya said, what would have happened if we’d been in the middle of a tour? This one was the last show, and it was the last song, too—“

“No, I swear, all these dickheads ever think about is money, money, money! Like, open your fucking eyes, the guy freakin’ passed out!”

Initially, I had the impression I was dreaming. I could hear three voices: Kaoru, Die and Toshiya, arguing. In fact, I’m almost sure our beloved leader’s loud complaints were the reason I was slowly waking up in the first place. I did not open my eyes. My head hurt and all my muscles ached madly. In my arm I was able to feel a slight pinching sensation. Finally, I figured I was lying in an uncomfortable hospital bed.

“Shhh! Are you crazy?! Stop yelling, you’re waking up the fucking dead!”

_‘Well… that's optimistic.’_

The way I was feeling was strange, a bit worrying, not very different from the sensation people get when they experience sleep paralysis. I could hear my band mates’ voices with relative clarity, meaning I had to be awake. Yet, I did not feel like I had the necessary strength to move. I intended to make an effort to open my eyes and look around me, to see my room and my friends and let them know I was fine. But there was a reason quite unknown to me for which my intuition determined me to decide against it.

Kaoru then let out a deep sigh. “Ah, yeah, sorry… I didn’t… mean to.” After a few seconds of silence, I could hear him speaking again, much quieter than the last time. “Sorry, I… it’s just… I’m tired as hell, that’s all.”

Die replied, fairly indulgently, “It’s cool, we get it… It’s been an interesting night, eh?” Faking a chuckle, the younger guitarist attempted to release the tension between the three of them. His attempt, however, only made the situation more awkward, at least as far as I could tell. After a while, Toshiya broke the silence.

“We gotta talk to him, though.”

“Oh…” Die began, allegedly already knowing what our bassist was referring to.

“Uh-huh. I mean, you all know I got nothing against him, but… that’s it.”

Kaoru then added, “Yeah, we’ll do that too, but not now. We just wait for him to wake up and get better. Then, when he gets out of here, we talk to him.”

 _‘Hold on, they’re talking about me now? What… Talk to me about what?’_ I instantly thought and that moment I believe my eyes slightly flinched involuntarily. It appeared that no one saw it, though, as I noticed no change in their tone or discussion.

He continued, “… There’s no hurry is all I mean. We practically finished the tour, right? And now we just have to stay here a little longer until he recovers. No big deal. We’ll just… tell him before or after we fly back home. After, I think is best.”

_‘Tell me what?’_

“Yeah, I was about to say that.”

My surprise was rather great, for until then I had thought there were only three people besides me in the room. Yet, the pitch of that voice was unmistakable. I recognized it without an effort—Shinya had been in the room the whole time.

“Other than that, what else do we have to do now? Related to the tour… the official stuff, I mean.”

“Not much…” our leader replied, clearly fatigued and not at all pleased, “We just gotta sign a bunch of papers, see if the equipment is all packed and, ugh… I gotta go and be yelled at by people when I tell them they have to stay here with us until we can go back home.”

I had already figured it was my fault for ruining the end of our tour, but precisely what they had to tell me that they worried so much about was beyond me. Despite my trying my best now to pretend I was still unconscious, what Kaoru had said before made me so uneasy that I could not help but frown slightly as I was attempting to decipher the topic of my friends’ discussion. It was an instinctual gesture and, the moment I realized what I had done, I prayed no one had really paid attention to my face.  
Shinya then concluded, “Well, then we… we just do what you said, Kaoru. Just… one thing at the time. We have all the time in the world now.”

“Yeah, and don’t worry,” Toshiya added, “I’ll call Nora later and I’m pretty sure she won’t mind hanging around here a little longer. I’m only worried she’ll want to stay here more than necessary. And, uh… I’ll let everyone else know, too.”

Die then joined in. “Uh-huh. And you too, Shinya. Don’t stress yourself over all this. We got this under control, alright? Really, though… You worry too much. You should have told us before, I don’t know why y—“

Shinya quickly interrupted him. “I… I know. But, I mean… it’s done, right? Let’s forget all this.”

At that point I felt as if I had been unconscious for a month. While I fancied I must have been the root of the problem, it seemed like something tragic and terrifying had happened that had a lot to do with me, but of which I did not have the slightest idea. To make things worse, Shinya clearly sought to avoid the topic, which only made me as frustrated as I was confused.

“… Right, yeah. Sorry about that,” the brunet man uttered awkwardly. Clearing his throat, he then spoke to our leader, “I just wanted to say, you both are tired. It’s been a long night and I think you’ve already done enough. I mean, come on, Kaoru, give yourself a break for once! Toshiya and I can do stuff too! We’re not kids anymore, right?” he added, chuckling sarcastically. “Right?... No? Okay…”

The room fell silent for a short while, after which Kaoru spoke again. “Ah… thanks. I think… I think I need a smoke.”

“Sure, man. Go on,” the other guitarist agreed, slightly awkwardly, “I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee.”

“Yep… And I think I could use some fresh air…” Toshiya said, “You wanna come with me, Shin?”

“Yeah... Let’s just come back later. Maybe he’ll wake up then.”

Right after this, I could hear the chairs in the room shifting, the door opening and footsteps heading away from me. The door closed quietly and after this, I could hear nothing more. I opened my eyes, finally.

The walls were painted a very pale shade of blue, compared to the four dark blue chairs that now stood empty around the room. Someone must have drawn the blinds, too. The light outside, though pale and faint, was upsetting my eyes. Even so, I barely had the strength to move a muscle, let alone get up and close them. The next hour I spent all alone in my bed trying to recall all of my memories from the previous night. With quite a bit of effort, I mainly managed to remember things that had occurred shortly before I lost consciousness for the first time. The rest of what had happened, I would gradually manage to recollect over several days through repeated voluntary attempts and much less voluntary dreams.

A nurse soon came into my room and, as she saw me fully awake, let out a barely audible gasp which I could not tell if it was out of pure surprise or disappointment. Speaking English, naturally, she expressed a sort of fake joy—in my eyes—at the fact that I was already awake. Not without effort, I then managed to have her contact our translator, who came to us as soon as she could and whom I managed to ask not to say anything to the others right away, but leave me an hour or two to rest properly, after which I knew they would have come back to check on me anyway. After answering a few questions and promising to let her know if I would ever need anything, the nurse flashed a forced smile one last time and then left, followed by Nora.

Disregarding my numb body and general fatigue, I could not take my mind off of my colleagues’ previous discussion. What I had got myself and the rest of the band into was obvious. I’d messed up, badly. In my defense, however, it was not my intention for things to turn out this way. Sure, it was true that I had intended to push my limits and go further than usual, but at the time I’d been almost sure I would be careful enough not to do cross the line. Embarrassingly enough, it seemed to me like a fairly good idea that night.

And in the end, it was my fault. But how grave was, in fact, my mistake? It had happened before. Surely, that did not make it any more excusable, but this sort of accidents never seemed to be such a big problem for us as a group. Every time after I’d throw up or collapse on stage, we would just laugh about it and keep making jokes about it for the next few weeks. And this time, it certainly felt very different. Why did they suddenly decide to take it so seriously? If I hadn’t known them better, I would have suspected it was about our public image.

No, that could not be it. Obviously, all bands care about how they are seen by people—for one reason or the other. But I liked to think we had not become so greedy and fake as to worry about such things and how they might influence our income in the future. On the contrary: apparently negative aspects were, in our opinion, what defined our group. We made, after all, rather negative music. Our lyrics, sound and appearance… one way or another, they all led to something dark. A feeling, an event, a message, in some shape or form, which portrayed the worst sides of each of us. Hatred, disgust, sadness and pain—we knew how to convey them accordingly. Our image was ultimately meant to be a bad one. And whether or not this concerned our band as a business, I could not understand what was happening.

I was trying to convince myself to rest—in vain, evidently. I had way too many things on my mind, and the idea of sleep, though appealing, was not a priority. I imagined different scenarios, one worse than the other, in which I would be scorned and rejected by my closest friends, for various reasons that even I would have found ridiculous. And the more I reflected and invented new absurd excuses to blame myself, the more did the situation looked like an almost urgent problem that needed to be addressed as soon as possible.  
Finally, I gave in. My state was one that required rest and peace of mind. And even without the latter, I decided I would just allow myself to sleep and wait for things to happen naturally. If there was one thing I knew for sure, it was that I would sooner or later find the answer.

For a short period of time, fortunately, I had managed to sleep completely undisturbed. When I eventually woke up, I looked out the window and noticed the increase of natural light outside. It must have been noon, I figured. Not much time after that, I heard the door slowly opening. The nurse came back to check on me and as she saw me awake, informed me that my friends had been sitting in the waiting room for quite some time, waiting for me to wake up. At once, I told her that I very much wished to see them and she agreed to let them know right away.

Toshiya stepped inside the room first, followed by Die and Shinya. They seemed rather worn out but I could clearly see on their faces the delight they felt when knowing me conscious and free from all danger. It warmed my heart a little; though they’d been among the people I was closest to for a long time, it was not often that I could actually get this feeling from anyone, not until something bad truly happened that would lead to such situations. Deep inside, I did feel sorry for the trouble I had caused them, but the joy of simply acknowledging their concern for my health quickly made me forget all that.

I found it strange that Kaoru was not with them. It was strange for Kaoru not to be anywhere when something in the least bit important was happening. They explained to me that they had come to my room before, hoping they would all be beside me when I’d wake up—which I had already known, though I was not planning to tell them. After that, they went outside to get some fresh air and, the way Toshiya put it, Kaoru was so tired, his cigarette had almost dropped out of his mouth when he was smoking outside on a bench, so Die eventually convinced him to return to his hotel room and rest. I knew that the lead guitarist would normally not even considered doing so, but his state was such that, in the end, he had no choice but to accept his friend’s advice. And then it made much more sense to me. It might be ridiculous to look at it that way, but Kaoru had always been like a mother to us four. He would take care of things for us, give us advice, tell us not to do certain things, worry over us… It was no wonder he had to leave—it seems even the gods must sleep sometimes.

Judging by the bags under his eyes, Daisuke did not look much better. What I did not remember at the time was that he was the one who climbed inside the ambulance and went with me to the hospital. From what I was then told, he and Kaoru had not rested at all since the incident, and Toshiya and Shinya had barely got two hours’ worth of sleep in the cramped and uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room. The only thing which made a difference between him and the other guitarist was the ungodly amount of Coca Cola and coffee Die had seemingly been drinking—not something he would usually resort to, but, as he put it, a necessary measure to compete with Kaoru’s stubbornness. To perform a gig without getting much rest before that and being already exhausted after an entire tour in a foreign country to begin with was evidently not easy. We rarely cared about the number of people we played for or their nationality. What is, in our opinion, the most logical thing to do, is to always give one hundred percent no matter for whom we play. So, feeling burned out after a concert is a sign that we’d done our best and that things could hardly have gone any better. Of course, no one could have predicted what would happen the previous night.

From an outsider’s perspective, our meeting would have seemed perfectly normal. Truthfully, nothing out of the ordinary did happen. My friends proceeded to tell me what else had happened while I was not conscious, as well as some things that I had merely failed to recollect. Then, for about half an hour we just made small talk, discussed about our tour, what we would do once we got back home—in other words, just topics that did not hold much relevance. The only thing that made the apparently ordinary conversation strange was the secrecy that my band mates were maintaining so well. If I had not known there was one topic they would not bring up, I would have never viewed our discussion as different from any other we would normally have had.

As I felt we were running short of decent enough topics to converse about, I encouraged my friends to go back to the hotel and get some sleep. Not before asking me a few times if there was anything I needed that they could help with, they agreed to leave and try to make up for the good night’s sleep they hadn’t had the opportunity to enjoy. I sincerely thanked them for their concern and apologized for the problems I had caused, after which the three men left my room with lazy and shuffled steps.  
A doctor then visited me, accompanied by Nora, and informed me that, since I was conscious and my state gave no signs of aggravation, there was no need for me to stay much longer in the hospital for a minor incident such as that. A significant factor which caused me to pass out was the blood loss from the cuts I’d made on my arm. I could feel my face growing slightly red at the thought that I could have had spared everyone all the hassle, had I been more careful and not have crossed the line so recklessly. The fact that I’d barely had any sleep or enough food before the concert did not help either. And after refusing the staff member’s help when he could have at least stopped the bleeding, the result was not at all surprising. The heat and suffocating air inside the venue, too, had contributed greatly to my sickening state, causing my headaches, nausea and dizziness and messing up my senses.

Apart from the hemorrhage I suffered and having hit my head on the floor when I’d fainted on stage, there was not much which could really keep me in that hospital. He suggested—in a quite friendly manner—that I should stay there until the next day. Despite that, I politely refused and said that I would only stay for a few more hours, after which I desired to return to my hotel room. The old man appeared understanding of my decision, especially since he knew we had a schedule we could no further mess up, and did not attempt to convince me to act otherwise.

What followed afterwards for a short period of time is relatively only worth briefly mentioning; the moment I was left alone, I texted Die to let him and the others know that I would back at the hotel in a few hours and to assure them that they can rest easy, knowing that my state was officially well and that they would not need to worry about any further complications in this sense. Upon arriving there that evening, I even managed to speak with Kaoru—who was only then waking up—for the first time after the incident. He looked very pleased to learn that I was completely out of danger and that he had one less problem to worry about.

Doing as I had been told by the doctor, I only proceeded to remove my bandages the next day. The marks were still completely visible, red and most of them of significant width, which also suggested their relative deepness. The pain persisted for some time after this—at times, I could feel a faint but definite sharp pain, practically a much reduced replication of the original sensation which I had felt during the concert. More or less, at least, as my senses had been fairly numb at the time, including my tolerance to pain. To some extent, it did not even bother me. The subtle throbbing provided, rather, a comforting feeling in its own way. Not a relaxing sensation, yet a cozy one, almost like a reassurance of sorts. Still, I only noticed this paradoxical situation very briefly and paid it no mind. What it might have represented was no concern of mine.

For two days after I got back from the hospital, we remained in Orlando. We spent a small part of that time visiting several places of interest and going sightseeing around the city, and the rest of the time relaxing back at the hotel and sleeping. Quite unsurprising, after a long and tiring tour that could have ended much better than it had.

The road back home was no different; our flight was quiet and peaceful and although I did not bother to notice, the calm atmosphere clearly contrasted with that of the last official night of our tour and the morning after. But I had somehow managed to clear my mind of the questions which had troubled me before, so most of the time we spent on the way home I did not even do as much as think of such unnecessary matters. In the plane I sat next to Die, who did not find it difficult to keep even the most irrelevant conversations flowing for a long time. The skinny man, I must say, did have a talent for it, too. He could easily make thoroughly uninteresting topics seem much more entertaining than they were, which helped the long flight back home feel far less boring than it otherwise would have.

After arriving in Japan, I ended up sitting in the back lounge of the bus between Toshiya and Shinya. On the road, for a mere flash, I felt as though our car suddenly got smaller and its interior started closing in on me. But I instantly though it ridiculous, and quickly brushed off the strange sensation. On my right, our drummer, silent as he usually was, did not try very hard to find topics which we could discuss. I found in that no discomfort and so, casually conversed Toshiya until we reached our destination.

The next few days consisted mainly of the usual signing of papers, receiving and storing our equipment and discussing with our tour manager about the tour, financial matters, issues which could and could have not been avoided and several vague ideas for our plans in the near future. It was, thus, absolutely necessary that each of us should book a room at one of the hotels around the city so that we might easily attend whatever official meetings were still required in order for us to finally be dismissed and allowed to return home.

  


On our last evening at the hotel we had checked in, the inevitable eventually happened. I was passively watching the latest news in my room, lying in my bed, and all of a sudden heard someone knocking at the door.

I could hear Kaoru’s deep voice calling from the other side. “Hey, Kyo! You in there?”

As though snatched away from a sound sleep, I blinked a few times in surprise and waited for a moment before replying, without bothering to get up and open the door.  
“Yeah, yeah, come on in!”

The door opened and instead of just him, I could also see the rest of my band mates walking into the small room. I did not sense anything peculiar about their unexpected visit until I realized that none of them actually stated the reason they were there. Instead, they simply started looking rather awkwardly at one another, as if urging each other to take some sort of initiative.

I immediately understood the situation.

After one too many moments of uncomfortable silence, our leader looked at me and finally spoke.

“Okay, so… there’s something we wanna talk to you about.” He stopped and studied my reaction expectedly, most likely awaiting a confirmation that the conversation might proceed. While looking at the brunet man I slightly tilted my head faking a confused expression, not saying a word, yet showing interest in what he had to say. I reached for the remote and turned off the TV as he continued. “It’s about the, uh… about the last concert, but… well… not only that.”

“Alright… what’s that?”

Kaoru stopped to look at the others before trying to continue. This gave Toshiya the time to continue from where he left off.

“That time back at the concert… What… What was that all about, though?”

This time I did not have to pretend anything. I remained perplexed for several seconds. ‘Wait, what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?’ was what I was about to say. I began thinking that maybe, just maybe, I had truly done something I was not aware of.

“What? I don’t get it… What are you talking about?” I finally said, confused, leaning slightly forward.

“You know what I’m talking about. All that cutting on stage before you passed out?” the bassist asked rhetorically, waiting for me to give a sign of actually understanding the situation.

“The cutting…” I repeated, dumbfounded. “What about it?”

No one answered my question.

“I don’t know what the big deal is,” I continued, raising my voice slightly. “What, is it the first time you see me doing—“

It seemed as if my question immediately set Kaoru off. “No, don’t start with that. It wasn’t like the other times and you know it.”

Shinya spoke reluctantly from behind him. “So far nothing bad happened. But all of a sudden you cut your arms and wrists and don’t even try to see that… that…”

“… That you kinda crossed the line?” Die finished when the other wouldn’t, and silence fell upon the room.

It still seemed strange to me that they should have been so upset over a minor incident such as this. I eventually figured the reason was much more complex.

“Okay, I didn’t want to end up in the hospital either! Do you think I’d just ruin the end of the tour on purpose? Come on, man, what the hell?”

Kaoru took a deep breath and clenched his teeth. “Well, you’ve done it before! You said it, it’s not the first time! And now of all times, NOW, you just start trippin’ and we gotta call the ambulance to take your ass away?”

“Dude, I didn’t mean to—“

The lead guitarist obviously sought to make his point heard and cut me off before I could finish my phrase. “Oh, come on, I wasn’t born yesterday. You’ve been fine the hundred times you’ve done this shit and suddenly you just happen to go too deep a few times in a row and not ask for a break to bandage your arm, at least stop that bleeding?”

“So, let me get this straight, what are you implying here? That I wanted to ruin everything for us right at the end of the tour?” I crossed my arms impatiently, irritated at his sarcastic question. If there was one thing I hated about arguing with Kaoru, it was his choosing of sarcasm and irony in place of relevant answers.

Toshiya joined in. “Would you just… understand that this isn’t about some damn concert or tour? It’s about you!”

I intended to refrain from saying anything as I was yet unsure of what my friends were referring to specifically. Either this, or I was subconsciously forcing myself to remain blind to an obvious issue.

“Look, is there something that’s troubling you? Anything you haven’t talked to us about?” Die asked, his expression showing genuine concern itself. “No, really now, it’s no—“

“All…” Kaoru sighed,“… All we’re saying is, what you did there… That was messed up, more messed up, than whatever you’ve done so far, on purpose. Cutting yourself a little for the sake of performance, to get yourself in that mood, that I can understand. But…”

“… This time, come on, it went too far. What even got into you?” the bassist added.

Rather unsurprisingly, Die’s mouth eventually let out a statement that his brain likely hadn’t had the time to process properly.

“If something upsets you, you can just talk to us, y’know? You don’t have to put on all this show just to get our attention.”

A long pause followed during which my other colleagues, surprised by his choice of words, turned to the taller guitarist, giving him quite punitive looks. Only then did he appear to mentally accumulate his own comment. 

“What the fuck was that just now?” I asked, wishing to believe I had merely misheard his words.

Toshiya scolded him with no hesitation. “Man, are you just… fucked in the head?!”

If reason told me to stay calm and dismiss Die’s insulting affirmation as another one of his poorly-picked ways to talk just for the sake of talking, I do not know. At the time, it seemed absolutely certain that the most logical thing I could do was pay him back for his offense.

“So that was it? That was your problem?” I frowned and leaned forward to look them all in the eye. Now their faces showed guilt rather than concern or impatience. That, however, I could not even pay attention to any longer.

“Well, no, look, I didn’t—“, the rhythm guitarist tried to rephrase.

“You didn’t what? Didn’t mean to say that? I didn’t want to have this discussion either, but do I have a choice?”

“Kyo, just… ignore him, you know he always talks before thinking!”, Shinya pointlessly attempted to stop our conversation from taking a turn for the worse. “The point is that we’re worrying about you! What with all that’s happened, we thought maybe there was something on your mind that you wouldn’t talk about and—“

If my maturity had matched my age, I might have listened calmly to our drummer, who was obviously making a significant effort to compensate for Die’s mistake and my short temper. That was, sadly, not the case.

“… And stupid Kyo wasn’t able to open his mouth and talk like a normal person, right? Because, come on, y’all know me, I’m a moron like that… I’m a little bit mentally retarded, guys, you know sometimes I gotta go full emo on stage so you all can give me attention, I’m sorry—“

“What… don’t start with this crap, no one said that!”

“No, you know what I think? I think I don’t need your pity!” In the heat of the moment, I forgot to listen to reason altogether. What came out of my mouth starting with Die’s unintentional insult was entirely the product of my childish anger and chaotic emotions.

“You’re not listening to me, stop taking it so harshly!”, the drummer raised his voice to top mine—a rare thing for him to do, even when not in public. “How did you think we were supposed to interpret this? Do you think we just came here to make fun of you or what? All we came here for is to see if there is any way we could help!”

“And there isn’t! Nothing happened, why’s it so hard for you to understand?!”

I could then see our leader pinching the bridge of his nose and frowning, and Toshiya stepping forward to speak up.

“Then why—what should we understand from all this? That nothing’s wrong, everything’s in order now and from now on you’re gonna end up in a hospital bed after every gig?”

“No! If… Dammit, if it’s such a serious concern for you, look—I did it because I was curious, okay? For experimenting! Nothing more! What the hell, has nothing worse ever happened since we started this band? When'd you girls become so sensitive?”

“’Nothing more’. Just a little experiment, that was all?” Kaoru finally asked, clearly skeptical and with an air of irony he clearly did not try to hide.

A doze of sarcasm called for one more to match it. “Do you want me to draw you a picture? Yes! That was all! All this pointless fucking argument and you don’t get it? Honestly, why didn’t I pretend I was asleep and keep you all out of my room?”, I pressed my fingers against my temples, annoyed at the irrelevance of the entire argument.

“You know what? All we wanted was to help, nothing more. If you’re saying there’s nothing wrong, okay, but don’t be such a dick about it,” our leader said bluntly, obviously trying to remain somewhat calm. He sighed again and walked slowly towards the door.

I did not want to give him the satisfaction of making me look like the one at fault. “Oh, now it’s me who’s—“

Grabbing the doorknob, he made sure he would get the last word. “Fuck this, I’m sorry I even had the idea to bring everyone here to talk to you. People just can’t have a normal discussion with you anymore. Seriously, grow the fuck up.”

With that, Kaoru opened the door and left without a hint of hesitation. The others looked briefly at me, then at each other, and followed their leader shortly. Shinya, the last one who exited the room, closed the door behind him, but I could still hear my friends’ voices coming from outside in the hallway—more or less clearly.

“—a little bitch, I swear!”

“Damn…”

“This, this is what I fucking deserve for trying to reason with this guy!”

“Come on, Kao, let’s go already.”

“This… this guy almost quit the band because of him! What, you’re expectin’ me to—“

“Ugh, not this again…”

“I know, I know! But—“

“Kaoru, we’ll talk again tomorrow, alright? Both Kyo and you gotta calm down.”

Just when I was about to tell myself that I would not let the argument with my friends affect me, however irritating, pointless and disappointing it could had been, my day suddenly turned from bad to worse. Through wishful thinking, I tried to convince myself that what I had heard just before was simply a misunderstanding.  
I got up immediately and started towards the door. I gripped the handle and held my hand in place for a few long moments. Only one second of doubt and second-guessing, and I turned around and threw myself on the uncomfortable hotel bed, robotically grabbing the remote and turning up the volume, not even knowing what channel I was watching. I refused to think about all this.

After about half an hour, I heard another knock on my door. More reserved, this time. I had to ask myself if I truly wanted to answer the door, if I was willing to face even more consequences for things that were not even entirely my fault. By the time I made up my mind and slowly got out of bed, I figured the person outside had already given up and left—an idea which, honestly, seemed more appealing to me. Yet, I opened the door, just to be able to say that at least I’d tried.


	3. Infection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Drink a little bit more. I think it’s a good way (i.e., to quit drinking). Drink so much you can’t work, then lose all your social bonds and shit and vomit blood.”  
> (Ville Valo, lead singer of HIM)

Despite the fact that I was not quite ready to see one of my colleagues so soon after a discussion which ended so badly and abruptly, I will admit that out of all four of my band mates, Shinya’s company could bother me the least. All of us disliked arguing with one another; Shinya was just better at avoiding that. 

After so many years, we both got to know each other fairly well. Neither of us was very good with words, so he entered my room with no hesitation and without asking for my permission—he knew that if I had had anything against his sudden visit, I would have slammed the door shut within the first few seconds. 

The drummer went to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving enough space for me as well on his right. Neither of us looked at each other; instead, we both stared awkwardly at the floor. 

I tried to break the ice somehow, to give him the urge to find his words. 

“So…? What are the boys saying now?” 

“Hm, don’t know.” The taller man grabbed the remote next to him and turned off the TV I had switched on to keep my mind occupied. “Kaoru and Die went outside and Toshi got a call and went God knows where. I went to my room.” 

“Mhm-hm.” I nodded passively. 

Shinya looked up at the small painting on the wall in front of him—a complicated, yet cheap attempt at abstract art. Nothing more than random shapes of different colors meant to represent some deep revelation of the artist. The only things it managed to convey were disorder and chaos. 

“You’re always trying to read between the lines,” he said to me, still staring at the unattractive painting, “and you worry too much. It really doesn’t do you good, you know?” 

“Hmm?” 

“When we were talking earlier… you seemed disappointed to find out why we came here. What were you expecting, though?” His eyes were carefully studying the rough, rugged lines that gave form to the irregular elements of oversaturated colors. 

“I don’t know…” 

“See? You’re overthinking and still can’t get to the bottom of things.” 

His gaze stopped as if to inspect a singular detail in the chaotic picture. After a while, he spoke again: 

“… You weren’t asleep.” 

“What?” 

“Back at the hospital. You were listening to us.” 

“How did you…” That was the last thing I expected to hear. Then again, I should have known better than to underestimate his type. What he said, all in all, made me chuckle slightly. “Ah, doesn’t matter. I didn’t understand much anyway.” 

Turning his head, he looked at me. “I made sure of that, didn’t I?” 

The first few seconds, I was left baffled. Then, I recalled the exact moment which had given me away. The change of expression on my face made it obvious that I finally understood the question, which made my friend giggle as in some sort of triumph. 

_‘Heh, always the quiet ones, right?’_

“Yeah, the boys were going to just spill everything right there. I still can’t believe they didn’t see. For a moment there you frowned so much I thought you were gonna jump out of that bed and beat someone up. Pretty scary for someone so small.” 

“You fucking jackass…” 

Both of us burst out laughing at his silly remark. 

“Why, though? What was so secret that I wasn’t supposed to hear?” I asked, certain that I could now get the answers to some of my questions. 

“Well, it wasn’t anything complicated, just…” the awkward gestures he made with his hand did not help getting his point across, and rather contradicted his statement. “You weren’t supposed to find out like that. Ah, hell... You probably heard Kaoru yelling in the hallway anyway. You know I wanted to leave the band, yeah?” 

My heartbeat seemed to have halted as I realized the severity and awkwardness of the situation I was confronted with. “I, ah… I mean, I heard… on the hallway… but I didn’t know who—“ 

“No, no, he was talking about me,” he assured me. 

“I… thought maybe I misheard him or something… Oh, man…” I cupped my face in my hands, sighing. “But why? Why would you, and… and why didn’t you tell us any—” 

“Because I was worried about you.” Shinya answered bluntly. 

“You were… what, about me? How—Why?” 

The blond man readjusted his position on the bed to look me in the eye better. “See, the only reason why we’re okay with you cutting and punching yourself and throwing yourself on the floor at concerts, is because we have faith that you know what you’re doing…” he then looked away and reformulated, “Well, the other guys, at least. I accept what you’re doing, but really, I was never okay with it.” 

“But, dammit, I know what—“ 

“Yeah, I know you got everything under control—well, most of the time. And look, I’m willing to believe that what happened now was just out of curiosity, testing your limits, all that... But even so, I just…” Once again, Shinya attempted to convey through gestures what he was apparently unable to do through words. “I just hate seeing you hurt yourself like that all the time. No matter how safely you think you’re doing all this, believe me… it looks so much worse from here.” 

“… Elaborate, please?” 

“You’re not just hurting yourself physically. By doing what you do, you’re fueling that negativity you have in your mind. And before you say anything”, he added, “I know it doesn’t seem like such a big deal to you. But I don’t know if you noticed, Kyo… you look worse and worse every time you do this stuff, it’s like it just leaves you looking more like a zombie after every concert.” 

“How exactly?” 

“You know what I mean, don’t play dumb.” 

Shinya glared at me insistently as I refused to answer. 

“Tooru—“ 

“Don’t.” 

“… You know I love this band, okay? And you all, you’re like the brothers I never had. Dir En Grey is one of the most important things in my life… but if that’s how you’re keeping yourself anxious and depressed, then to hell with it.” 

The long-haired man pursed his lips and looked down at his shoes. 

“When it’s just the five of us and maybe some other close friends, I see you smiling and laughing, and not just for show. It’s that honest and silly laughter of yours that I like to hear, alright? And don’t get me wrong, when we’re on stage I can see how much you love to perform and how well you do it…” 

I did not dare interrupt him now. Not when I felt so guilty. 

“When you blew out your eardrum, when you poured that bucket of ice water on yourself, all the times you vomited or almost fainted on stage, you don’t need to do all this crap!” He stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts, then continued, “And this time, I was ready to go through with it, I swear. Toshiya was sleeping next to me in the waiting room and I was laying in that chair with my eyes closed just thinking how I would tell everyone that ‘it’s over, I’m done with this!’” 

“… And you told them?” 

“I didn’t want to, but… Well… I was really angry, you know, and… Look, I started… crying… And then it turns out Toshiya had been awake for a few minutes and was watching me, and… You know, he asked me what was wrong, I wouldn’t say anything, then the others came to check on us and… yeah. I had to tell them, after all.” 

As serious as these matters were, I found myself unable to hold back a chuckle. 

“What…? What did I say?” Shinya said, clearly not sharing my reaction. 

“No, no, sorry, it’s just… You, you cried… for this?” I asked, very amused, pointing to myself. My friend, however, sighed and rolled his eyes, showing irritation at my behavior. Seeing this, I gave up on my awkward jokes and attempted to apologize decently. “Okay, no, seriously now. Shinya, look at me. I’m sorry you’re worrying so much about me. All of you do—well, especially you—and I don’t feel at all like I even deserve this.” 

“Hm… That’s not what you said to Kaoru earlier.” 

Passive-aggressiveness I could not normally stand; but one could simply not become infuriated in such circumstances. Moreover, one notable difference between Shinya and Kaoru was that one of them knew how to make someone listen calmly and pay attention to his point, while the other just found it very easy to end the conversation quickly and not very politely. 

I nodded, acknowledging my mistake. 

“… I know.” 

I knew, however, that my answer did not satisfy him. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” he replied, sounding slightly more pleased. “But then tell me,” the man added, looking up to meet my own eyes, “what’s there to do now?” I failed to find a proper answer. Instead, I answered his concerned look with a defeated one of my own as if to show him how clueless I was through a non-verbal medium. Shinya took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before looking back at me. 

“You’re a grown man now, Kyo. I can’t tell you what to do. Neither can Kaoru, or the TM, or anyone else.” 

Through my silence, I indirectly approved of my colleague’s words. 

“I figure you understood by now that I won’t be leaving Dir En Grey anymore.” 

“Right.” 

“And what I had to say…” he continued, “I said it all. What was relevant, anyway.” 

With that, the slender man looked down at the floor and rested his elbows on his knees, as though the conversation was not only exhausting him mentally, but physically as well. His long and golden brown hair was now covering his face almost entirely so that I was not able to observe his expression. 

“From now on, you do whatever you want. Just… try to remember all this.” 

With that said, the drummer nodded a few times instinctively—allegedly confirming to himself that there was nothing more he could add—and, after a short while, murmured a quiet “yep, that’s it” to himself and got off the bed. 

“Well, uh… I’ll be seeing you tomorrow,” he said, walking slowly towards the door. 

Absent-minded until that point, I only then realized that I was sitting alone on the edge of the bed. I quickly brushed off the deep thoughts that were clouding my mind and rose from the bed at once, calling out to my friend. 

“Yeah, um… Shinya?” 

“Huh?” he automatically turned around to answer. 

Lacking the right words for such circumstances, I merely held out my arms, baring my crooked teeth and giving the man in front of me an awkward but honest smile. Fortunately, over the years, one grew accustomed to my occasional use of gestures and body language over speech and therefore, my band mate wasted no time in coming back towards me and pulling me close into a warm hug. 

Our appearances contrasted sufficiently, as did other aspects of our behavior and personalities. Our roles in Dir En Grey were entirely opposed—me, the repulsive and aggressive frontman, and he, the silent and passive drummer. As the lead singer—whether I liked it or not—I had the most occasions to interact with fans, interviewers and members of bands which we would go on tour with. Often, I would be complimented on my skill and creativity, but be, however, reminded of how unapproachable and unfriendly I seemed. Appearances could be deceiving, but sometimes fun to maintain. 

Shinya, for instance: not an entirely banal sight to behold. A man of average height with full lips, long, wavy hair, no facial hair whatsoever and a feminine build complemented by elegant clothes. He talked shyly and seldom—even more rarely about himself, he despised the smell of cigarettes, did not drink excessively—unlike Die—, hated sports and loved animals and fashion. A well-dressed nobody. A strange homosexual with good manners and a sole talent for playing drums, in many people’s eyes. 

Why, yes—anybody could admit that the drummer looked surprisingly good dressed as a woman. For what other reason would have Die mistaken him for one when they first met? Perhaps it would come as a surprise for others that Shinya presented interest in the opposite sex as much as any other man. Perhaps people would also find it strange to hear that the man did not suffer from as many self-confidence issues as it seemed and was not as silent around the ones who mattered to him. For one, I see no reason why someone should open their mouth mindlessly all the time and for no relevant reason. An unpopular opinion to some, maybe. 

Or maybe superficiality was, indeed, more valuable. 

I patted his back in a friendly manner and then, as I broke the embrace, thanked the taller man for his support in spite of my stubborn and idiotic attitude. As I had expected, he modestly claimed it as something any friend would do, and reassured me that I should not worry about him or any of our other band mates, as all disputes would be solved the next day—as they always had. 

And I would have been a fool to contradict him, as things happened exactly the way he had predicted. In the morning, the five of us gathered together and as we were drinking our tea or coffee, apologizes were exchanged and hands shook, and before anyone could notice, we went right back to our old ways. Just as if no argument had ever happened, Die was already disturbing the silence of that calm morning with his overused and inappropriate jokes. Toshiya, on the other side of the table, was teasing Shinya with every occasion that came up. On my left, Kaoru was not paying attention to their childish show, contemplating instead the good memories of our tour while smoking his cigarette—the third one that morning—and wishing he could somehow turn just a few years younger. 

If all was so easy, though, if we could just reverse time at will, would we not still be inclined to repeat our worst mistakes? I think punishment is the only way we ever truly learn. 

As opposed to the previous evening, I could definitely feel, in the absence of stress and frustration, that time was passing by much faster. After having breakfast, we packed our belongings and left the hotel at noon, and finally arriving home, I was met with a sudden feeling of safety and comfort. My empty apartment greeted me with the familiar sensation as soon as I stepped in—it was, indeed, any musician’s dream after enduring a long tour abroad. Unsurprisingly, the rest of the day I spent sleeping, and in the days which followed, my life casually returned to normal. 

To say that my personal life is in any way interesting would be a lie; overall, “monotonous” would be the best word to describe it. Whenever I lack the sufficient inspiration to write lyrics or poetry, I entertain myself through reading, watching a movie or making random doodles and sketches of whatever happens to occupy my brain at the time—and stare at them, thinking that Kaoru could have done a much better job than me. The man did have a talent for visual art that he simply refused to acknowledge. 

Looking back, I realize that Dir En Grey seldom spend their time together for reasons not related strictly to the band. To reformulate, I now realize the full effect which the absence of my friends has had on my behavior, personality and mentality. 

I mentioned before that monotony heavily characterized my daily activities. It is not to say that my hobbies bore me per se, but merely that there are times when I can sense a lack of change in my routine—a change which, at times, I feel like I need. 

Talking to my friends and family over the phone or via text messages for, say, an hour or two at a time would sometimes satisfy my desire to communicate with others enough to sense a slight variation in my everyday schedule. Toshiya and I also lived in the same city. It was ironic—after being roommates when we were younger, it seemed like now he was back to haunt me. But jokes aside, the man’s mere presence was enough to lighten up one’s mood, literally in a matter of minutes. He possessed a kind of determination that I had always been jealous of. He was always in the mood to talk and joke with others and was generally a person open to trying out new things and stepping out of his comfort zone. In this sense, his dynamic character seemed to be contagious, as other people—myself included—would unintentionally feed on his positive energy. 

It is often said that “you are the average of the five people you spend the most time with”. And I suppose this is only logical, as it is no secret that the way one behaves and thinks is affected indirectly by the people one finds oneself surrounded by. But this change is only noticeable when at its peak—meaning, when one has already spent a certain amount of time around those people; basically, enough time for the changes to take effect. 

Consequently, it would mean that one can only discover one’s true self after a longer time spent almost entirely alone or around people uninvolved in one’s personal life. Deserted by any major outside influences, one becomes one’s closest friend and therefore, the only person capable of influencing one’s behavior. It could be said that, during times such as these, one’s own personality turns into an augmented version of itself—so, a generally depressed person will only worsen their own mental state, while an optimistic one may find new means to spend their time in a fun and exciting way. 

Obviously, I was no exception. The more time passed after the day at the hotel when my friends and I parted ways, the more I could observe myself returning to my old habits. And as it is widely known, most of our daily activities, from the least to the most important ones, are habits. The human brain cannot afford the energy to think each and every action we make through, to analyze it and decide whether or not it should be executed. This is one of the reasons why some people find social contact exhausting—each action carried out in public represents an effort that their brains make, since they are not accustomed to such interactions and are constantly faced with the question of whether or not said action is acceptable in the given circumstances. It is then no surprise that, at the end of the day, such a person feels drained of their energy and motivation. So it was a paradox to me that, while my scarcity of significant social interaction allowed me to conserve my energy, I started at one point to notice a gradual regression in my determination and liveliness. 

The process of developing ideas and concepts for future Dir En Grey songs began to prove rather challenging. As always, my mind had plenty of negative subjects to address at its disposal—maybe even more than usual; but I seemed to lack the inspiration needed to turn them into proper song material. All artists find themselves confronted with this issue every now and then. Some of them need entire years to surpass this obstacle—and others never do. 

I felt no reason to panic over this problem, however. Not yet. I decided that I would instead occupy my free time with other activities and hobbies and let inspiration come whenever it may. 

Yet, this, too, became an increasingly difficult task as I felt that I was to a greater extent forcing myself to undertake other productive hobbies, rather than committing myself to doing them on my own volition. What was worse, I could not bring myself to enjoy superficial activities either. Sure, watching a cheap Hollywood movie or playing a violent shooter or horror game could temporarily distract me from this newly-established frustration. But it was never long before the guilt of seeing my precious time go to waste got to me. Imagine, then, that I was finding myself standing on the anvil and looking up at the hammer above. I could neither put my time to good use nor waste it in ways that could improve my disposition and make the hours pass by faster. Were my problem not so stressful, I would have been willing to seek distraction in someone else’s company. It was, however, precisely so; and for this reason, I avoided communicating with my colleagues or relatives unless they initiated the conversation themselves. Such verbal interactions, I later found, I unconsciously tried to keep short. I made sure to only ask my family about the most important aspects of their lives that could interest me, instead of listening to every trivial detail of their daily occupations. That is, if any of them bothered to contact me. Likewise, I would no longer attempt to fuel Die’s appetite for superficial discussions by answering his silly jokes with ridiculous remarks of my own. Any conversation with any of my friends, in fact, I managed to keep to a disputably minimum length, this way managing to give and receive only the information which truly mattered and avoiding to discuss the details which would have been of no real use to me or the other person. It made me proud, in a way—though I was not usually, as I mentioned, involving myself in professionally productive activities, I felt relieved to know that I had not yet lost my ability to use time wisely and save it up for matters of more importance. 

The exact moment when I realized that my approach was, unlike what I thought, flawed in many ways, was when Toshiya called me one afternoon to ask if I wouldn’t be interested to come over to his place. We would just sit for a while and chat, eat and drink something, nothing out of the ordinary for a friendly visit. I could have easily just ordered a taxi and reached his house which was on the other side of the city, and I knew that if I was too lazy to leave late at night, the bassist would happily allow me to spend the night there, as I had done for him so many times before. “It’s been months since we’ve seen each other and we live in the same city, too!” he remarked. My answer to him was that I was “too busy”. Too busy with my creative process to be able to interrupt it. 

I’ve always liked to think of myself as an honest person. The people most important to me, especially, I supposed I should always tell the truth, be it however harsh. Yet, there I was, spouting the most pathetic lie to avoid being honest to a friend I knew would not judge me for my choice. Whether or not I managed to fool him, I do not know. He merely said that it was a pity since he missed the two of us spending time together, then wished me good luck with my work and hung up. It was only after this conversation that I noticed that my friends would more rarely attempt to contact me. And since I would not take the initiative myself to initiate a conversation with any of them, no matter how short, my days would now consist of just me attempting to spend—or waste—my time in ways that would not bore me to death, with almost no opportunity of interaction with other people. 

_‘They’re avoiding me now?’_ I would sometimes ask myself. _‘It’s been so many years, they must have had enough of me already.’_ And by judging my situation from this perspective, I found a quick and easy answer to my dilemma: they had other friends to talk to and go out with, I was sure. Other, more interesting people to entertain them and personal lives which kept them busy. It did not bother me whatsoever—we would meet again eventually, to tour or work on a new album, and then things would return to normal, as they always did. I merely had to wait, to let enough time pass. 

With social interaction being as insufficient as it now was, one would think exasperation would have finally reached a level where I would feel forced to take the initiative to obtain it myself. Instead, the consequences of my situation were slightly more complex. Though uncomfortable during the first weeks of truly starting to feel isolated, I then began to find relief in my own loneliness. 

As more time passed, I learned to enjoy this loneliness. And I eventually understood that the only reason why being alone had previously bothered me was because I had subconsciously considered that I did not deserve to feel that way. But then I asked myself why that was so, why I was beyond such a condition. Because I was an altruistic person? Because I helped others? Because the people closest to me owed their greatest qualities to my influence over them? Perhaps because I was some sort of genius, or a unique person without which the world would, to some extent, suffer? 

Coming to this realization made me understand, finally, that the alienation which my friends and relatives developed towards me was merely what I deserved—nothing more and nothing less. From a young age, I had been taught, like all children, not to expect more than I deserved, and only on that day did I wholeheartedly agree with that idea myself. It all made sense. I was not blind to my own flaws. Truth be told, I was a rather repulsive person. Sure, I was kind to my closest friends—unnaturally kind, sometimes—but that did not make a significant difference. Murderers, rapists, thieves—they all had friends and loved ones towards whom they expressed genuine benevolence. But were they good people, just for this reason? 

They weren’t, and neither was I. Always short-tempered, sarcastic, expecting people to read my thoughts instead of taking the time to make myself clear. Rarely willing to make a compromise and be polite and nice to people who, albeit unimportant to me, had the right to be respected. Did I think of myself as more of a human being than them just because of my status as an artist and celebrity? Did I sometimes avoid speaking with interviewers and fans because I actually looked down on them? Likely. Did that kid kill himself that one time because he saw in me a role model whose malicious habits he should copy? I felt ashamed to think it could be true. 

I did have an exceptional sense of justice, however. It gave me such pleasure to finally see that I was receiving precisely what I had coming. It was, in a way, fascinating. Perhaps karma was real, after all? Only knowing this made me feel relieved, more at ease than ever before. From monks who flog themselves to compensate for their sins to athletes who come to adore the pain of training and pushing their bodies to the limit, pain seemed to be far more than just a sensation or a feeling. It was something people needed in order to become better. Punishment shaped them. It made them whole. 

And pain was the closest thing I’d ever had. The friend who would not abandon me, not ever, no matter how many people—if any at all—surrounded me. Suffering was my teacher; it taught me what was good and bad, showed me the consequences of all of my imprudent actions. Pain was an invisible bond which brought me closer to my band mates on more than one occasion. It had always guided me on my path in life, brought my greatest qualities and talents to light and constituted the very core of Dir En Grey. 

There were numerous kinds of pain, evidently. Physically, it never bothered me much—though my constitution was not exactly vigorous, I had, with time, developed a high tolerance to pain. Humiliation was something else entirely. Perhaps one of the reasons why I would sometimes be excessively rude to others was because of some sort of paranoid feeling that I had to disgrace the other person before they disgraced me. Fear and despair were the worst; those are the things which can make even the bravest man wish he had never been born. 

Misery? Why, that’s where things got interesting! 

Monotony is where it all started. Doing the same things over and over for days and weeks and months. Not talking sufficiently with my colleagues, friends and family had only amplified the effect. Alone and with no one to look up to but myself, I had built my own little world inside my apartment. Suddenly feeling deserted of positive influences, I decided not to act against the change which had started to form in my own self. I thought it better that way. 

I supposed something would happen that would reverse everything and make my life come back to normal through some unspoken miracle. And when it didn’t, what did I do to solve things? I kept thinking that I did not know how. That what was happening was beyond my power of understanding. 

I knew it, I knew I’d heard it—my reason that kept trying to guide me, it had been there all along. I just continuously tried to keep it somewhere hidden, in the very back of my mind. And I succeeded, too. 

With so much time for me to spend as I pleased in no one’s company but my own, I finally had the occasion to get to know the man whom I’d seen countless times in the mirror. In contrast to my relative social isolation, I had started to become more and more in touch with myself. 

At least, I thought I did. Even though, with time, I learned to predict and explain my own thoughts and reactions, it seemed like I only preferred to see one side of my identity. What I managed to notice much later was that, despite feeling as though I was born a second time in my own universe, I had started to fade from existence in the outside world. Who did I interact with? Who even bothered to care about me any longer? 

That was when I noticed for the first time in months—I had long started sliding down a vicious, destructive spiral. 

That explained many issues—my lack of inspiration, of motivation to create, to be productive, to even socialize. These had already started a long time before. In a way, they became my new lifestyle. 

And I understood then, why it was that certain people who suffered from depression did not want to treat their state because they wanted to preserve it. Not only does monotony make this disorder feel so comfortable and easy to maintain, but by leaving it untreated, one becomes so accustomed to it that, at one point, one is too scared to try to cure it. It was logical, in a way. When misery becomes your closest friend, why would you want to change yourself? Repetitiveness was easy to understand, to predict. On the other hand, who knew what awaited out there in the real world once the comfortable feeling of gloom was gone? Was it not safer to maintain a condition that you had already gotten used to? So I did—I refused, absolutely refused, to change my situation. The familiar state of anxiety, always present, made me feel safe. Protected. Everything was fine as long as I could feel the existence of desolation and negativity. Everything was in order, exactly as it should have been. I simply could not give it up. It gave me too much pleasure. To live in my imaginary heaven, to have almost no connection with the outside world. Not to have my existence acknowledged, therefore, to be relatively dead. 

I would lie if I said that the incident which happened a few months before at the end of my tour with Dir En Grey was, indeed, just a mistake. If I hadn’t been able to explain it to myself until that particular moment, that was, too, my own fault. At the time, I was convinced that all I was doing was inducing painful feelings and sensations into my mind and body to be able to intensify the way my performance would transpire. I also knew that what I was doing was not entirely for the sake of our audience; I did find pleasure myself in seeing our visual performance—especially my own—corresponding so well with the music and lyrics. 

Overlooking my act of self-destruction which, after years of concerts with Dir En Grey, was no longer a surprise whatsoever, my thoughts then skipped to my last moments of lucidity before I got loaded into the ambulance and taken to the hospital. Even I was perplexed when I found that, attempting to recreate the sensations which I had felt that night, I was not able to say that my ill condition had troubled or upset me. Rather, the state I had come to right before passing out in the car, the numb sensation and dulling of my senses, felt absolutely relaxing. 

It was truly exquisite, I remembered then! My head and entire body had felt infinitely heavy; I was hardly able to even execute the most basic movements. Having had thrown up previously, I had felt much better, so the stomach sickness had no longer been able to interfere with my strangely positive mental state. My eyesight had been blurred and my hearing muffled, so neither the artificial lights in the ambulance nor the yelling and screaming of my band mates could disturb me. Having been laid on the uncomfortable stretcher by the paramedics, I actually had felt as though my body was sinking into a soft, warm bed. I had felt, in some way, embraced by some unthinkable entity—and I remembered how amazing I had felt back then. I had not been asleep, yet not entirely awake either. Even so, I had been able to feel my consciousness finally starting to give in. And before truly passing out, the gradual loss of my senses had given me an unusually soothing sensation, like a boulder that had been finally lifted off my chest. For an instant, I had thought I was going to die, even though I had known that my wounds were not nearly as severe as to cause this. Yet, the thought of death had done nothing to make my experience a distressing one; if anything, I should admit that it had given me the exact opposite. 

Clearly, the insufficiency of company for such a long period of time affected me greatly. Only now, through comparison, do I truly realize the gravity of the situation. Having grown accustomed over this time to only care about myself—in the absence of others—I suppose I had at some point forgotten that a person’s life in society is directly connected to the lives of every other person; and that, although we are individuals, the value of our lives does not only depend on ourselves, but also on the people around us. 

And how, how was I supposed to remember all this? I did not want to talk to anyone; I did not want anyone’s company, not until it was already too late. 

Or was it? 

Was there really nothing I could have done? 

It seemed at that point that everything that would follow would depend on the answer I chose to give. 

No. 

There was nothing I could have done to help myself. No turning back from the path I’d chosen. 

As if some unseen force wished to test the confidence I had in my own decision, I soon found my cellphone ringing. Picking it up from the couch in my living room, I saw it was Toshiya. I answered, nonchalantly. 

“Kyo! Hey, what’s up? Long time no talk!” 

“Hey, not much. You?” 

“Uh, look, Imma make this quick. You know the others just arrived in town, yeah?” 

It took me quite some time to understand who the bassist was referring to. 

“What? How? No, I didn’t know.” 

“Oh! Well, yeah… Die and I wanted to meet anyway, so we just figured we’d call Kao and Shinya, too. I mean, why not, right? Turns out they have a bit of free time right now.” 

I then realized where the conversation was heading. 

“So anyway, I hope you’re coming over tonight. It’ll be a while until they all meet up and arrive here anyway, but you can come later if you got stuff to do.” 

Determined to end the conversation quickly, I decided to give him an answer that he could not very easily oppose. A honest answer, to some extent. 

“Ah, look… sorry but I can’t make it. Seriously, I can’t.” 

“… What? No, no way, dude… Don’t give me that again. It’s gonna be all of us, come on! You gotta be here!” 

“I told you, Toshi, I can’t—“ 

“Why not?!” 

“It’s… Look, it’s been a fucked up couple of weeks for me and, really, I’m not down for this sort of stuff. Not now.” 

“… Shit, Kyo, don’t say that.” 

“I mean it.” 

“Why, though? What happened? Dude, you can tell me if something’s wrong, you know that.” 

“I know, really. But no, it’s complicated. I’m still sorting this out, but believe me, I can’t make it. You tell the guys I said ‘hi’, though, okay?” 

“You could do that yourself…” 

_‘Could I, now?’_

“… but whatever…” I could then hear an irritated sigh and what sounded like muffled offences on the other end. He continued, “Do whatever you want, man. I tried. Good… Good luck with that, uh, thing, I guess. Maybe next time.” 

“Yep. Maybe. Thanks anyway. You guys have fun.” 

“Thanks, thanks,” he returned, an obvious tone of dissatisfaction in his voice. 

“Bye.” 

Toshiya then hung up without saying a word. Understandable. Who could judge him? 

I looked at the time on my phone screen. 

_‘Well, haha! We're still on schedule, right?’_

After putting my cell phone on the coffee table, my eyes automatically fixed the glass cabinet in front of me, on the other side of the room. I walked mechanically towards it and opened it. After inspecting its contents, I found that my luck had not failed me: smiling, I took out the one-liter bottle of Jack Daniel’s and closed the cabinet, making myself comfortable on the couch. 

Just having that bottle in my possession felt slightly unusual. I drank, sure—but my first experience with large quantities of alcohol had been enough to make me realize that my body could not tolerate it very well. I opened it, nonetheless, and took a big sip as quickly as I could, before the disgusting smell had the chance to put me off. 

During the seven months since I had returned home, I had only visited my family twice—mostly for the sake of my mother and brother than anyone else’s—and had seen Toshiya only once, when I’d invited him over to chat and have a cup of coffee. The messages and phone calls I sometimes got from my dearest friends I chose to answer only at times, until they ceased to appear almost entirely. And I even dared to think it was them who were avoiding to talk to me? This is as tragic as it is laughable. I appeared to have an admirable affinity for fooling myself. It felt like nearly everything I’d done in these past few months were passive activities, carried out merely to be able to confirm that my free time had not completely gone to waste. 

For crying out loud, even drinking that disgusting whisky was something I found myself doing with robotic determination! I did not even notice when I had finished drinking half the contents of that bottle until my state went from dizzy to nauseous. Time was, indeed, relative. One moment I was watching a thriller movie on my couch with the remote in one hand and a half-empty glass of Jack in the other, and now, here I am after what feels to me as only a second later, laying on the carpet beside the table and staring at the ceiling. 

I am somewhat confused. Not surprised, though. I am trying to recollect what occurred during the previous minutes. It’s no use, though. I feel unable to concentrate on anything. Looking ahead, I can see that my TV is turned off. Was the film over already? What happened to the little kid? Did he make it back home? What about that weird neighbor, did he blow up the building? When did I even turn the TV off? 

I will not try to get up; I know my body is too weak now. As a matter of fact, I can feel my energy continuously seeping out of me. I wonder why I am still awake. My chest feels cold and warm at the same time. I look down and see my body wet and covered in vomit which smells acrid and bitter because of the large quantity of distilled liquor I consumed. I don’t remember taking off my shirt, but I think I can see it tossed away somewhere next to me, on the floor. 

A tingling and irritating sensation keeps bothering me, and I soon realize where it is coming from. Trying to focus my eyes on the source, annoyed at the insufficient light in the living room, I begin to discern, one by one, the red marks covering my arms, chest and stomach. 

The blood is still seeping out of most of the cuts on my inner arms. In some places, including both of my wrists, the red liquid seems to have already oozed to the point of staining the white carpet quite badly. I fail to feel any definite pain, however. The alcohol, as I can see, did its job quite efficiently. 

_‘It’s fine. Yeah… It’s all good, finally…”_

Suddenly, something disturbs my peace. I can hear my cellphone ringing—and, disoriented as I am, I try to determine the source of the sound. By force of habit, I make an effort to reach behind me, for the device on the table. With clumsy and sloppy motions, I knock it off the table and onto the floor. Retrieving the small phone, I make out the name “Kaoru” written in big letters on the screen. I only bother to lay the device next to me on the carpet and wait for the ringing to stop. 

Though I hear nothing now, I am having trouble returning to my relaxed state. I wait for a while, yet start to feel more and more uncomfortable. I cannot seem to be able to clear my mind. There is a voice in the back of my head, and it keeps saying _‘Kaoru, Kaoru, Kaoru’_ over and over again. 

_‘Shut up, I don’t want to hear this,’_ I think, repeatedly, until the voice appears to finally fade away. 

It’s already too late. There is nothing I could have done. 

And I regret nothing. I am glad, actually, that everything will end this way. My way. Physically, I am feeling far from well; the nausea has not yet ceased and my stomach and head are aching greatly. My heart, I think, is beating more slowly than normal; but I can sometimes feel its throb in my throat, with much more heaviness. Am I close now? I feel more exhausted with every second, yet nothing is happening. Where did I go wrong? 

_‘—the phone, pick it up now and see, it was him, take it and talk—‘_

_‘Shut up.’_

_‘He wanted to talk to—‘_

_‘There’s nothing to talk about. Everything’s been decided already.’_

I cannot take my mind off of that phone call, for whatever reason. Each time I try not to think about it, I feel anxiety and stress taking over my mind. 

_‘pick it up, now, Tooru—“_

No, this is not the way it was supposed to happen. 

I wanted peace, harmony, I wanted to be happy. 

_‘—coward, you didn’t! Why, you stupid—‘_

The worst thing of all—though numb and hardly able to move, and with my conscience giving signs of weakening—is that I was starting to feel it all. Already so close, and only now do I start to see and feel things as they really are! 

I feel miserable, pathetic, ashamed. I feel wrong. 

Something isn’t adding up. 

I planned it all, but things aren’t coming together as I thought they would. Why? There has to be something—something that I did wrong. I am sure now, and though I cannot determine what it is, there is something that 

_‘—afraid of the truth, Tooru, I told you, you’re always—‘_

is making me feel like my approach has not been faultless. But I was meant to find release, finally! It is what I wanted! It is what makes me feel happy, the only option 

_‘—hiding behind your stupid fucking lies YOU’RE FOOLING—‘_

that I had. There was no other way, it had to end like this. It has to end my way! I have control over this. There is nothing 

_‘and your friends and family and you, YOU WHINY LITTLE SHIT, why, I swear, I’ll never understand—‘_

that can keep me from having this. Nothing. I can already feel my head getting heavier and my eyes tending to close. It'll end soon, finally. 

_‘You hear me? It’s my chance, this is it.’_

All of a sudden, my body twitches as I hear my cellphone ringing again. 

_‘Finally… How blind could I be not to realize?’_

I lay completely still, not moving a muscle. 

_‘It’s so much easier to die than to live! I can’t wait! ’_

The repetitive high-pitched ringtone unnerves me. But it's nothing. Nothing compared to how far I've come. 

_‘I’m so sick of this shit, but that’s it. You hear? That’s it! I don’t care anymore, I’m—‘_

I can’t, no. 

I have to relax and clear my mind. 

_‘—finally free, DO YOU UNDERSTAND, AT LAST—‘_

How does one relax, I wonder? 

I have to fall asleep. 

_‘—AND GOOD FUCKING RIDDANCE, I SHOULD HAVE KILLED MYSELF SOONER—‘_

“Kyo? Hey?” I identify Shinya’s voice, not entirely intelligible because of the music I could hear playing in the background on the other end. 

“Shinya?” I ask, not knowing what else to say—not even realizing when I answered the phone. 

“Yeah, so, you sure you don’t want to co… Uh…” his tone starts to change, gradually, as he probably starts realizing that not everything was quite right with my answer. “Kyo, are you alright? You sound really weird.” 

“I… Uh…” I begin with a trembling voice, unable to find any words. 

_‘No, no way, not him… please, no…’_

“Hey! You hear me? Kyo?” he calls out as I start to notice a subtle tone of worry in his voice. 

Again, I repeat: 

“I… I…” 

But I can’t seem to continue. I do not have the strength to hold the phone anymore, so I set it down next to my ear and turn my head towards it to be able to hear my colleague. Some blood has already dripped onto the screen, as I can now see. 

“—gimme that. Hey, Kyo, you there?” another voice joins in, which was undoubtedly Kaoru’s. 

I cannot contain it any longer. Unable to speak coherently, I burst into tears at the sound of my friend’s concerned voice. I sob and whimper uncontrollably and then, as I struggle to contain my pathetic outburst, I put my ear to the device next to my head. 

“For fuck’s sake, what did you—are you drunk?“ I can now notice that the music which was just a few moments ago playing in Toshiya’s house has now stopped. I gather all of my will and power to try and speak to the guitarist. 

“Kaoru…” 

“Kyo, you’re creeping me out, man. Where… Are you home?” 

“Y-Yes, yes… Please...” 

“What’s going on, Kyo, what did you do?” The man’s voice is clearly trembling at this point. 

“Please…” I ignore his question. 

“… Godddammit…” he mutters. In the background, I can make out the voices of my other friends, likely confused and demanding an explanation from their—our, leader. 

“… Please, please…” I repeat, beginning to sob again and choking on my own saliva as I try to control myself. 

“Kyo, talk to me, man. I’m serious, what’s up with you?!” 

It’s no use. I I’ve probably just lost my ability to focus on my thoughts and speak coherently. 

“Shit! Toshiya, the keys! Where are the keys?!” The voices I now hear are almost unintelligible. I can perceive Die’s voice calling out to the other guitarist, likely confused at his sudden and unusual outburst. “—fuck! Hold on, Kyo, I’m on my way, you hear me?! I’m coming, just hang in there!” 

With this, he hangs up abruptly. I look at the screen, trying my best to read the date and hour. “8:57 PM. May 5, 2010”. Or so I think it says. I can hardly see anymore. My heartbeat is much slower now and I can feel it, the trance, catching up with me. 

I lie this way a few more minutes, attempting to stay lucid, not without effort. I am unable to move my body even slightly, and cannot quite feel my hands and arms at this point. I close my eyes, but tell myself repeatedly to stay awake. The sensation makes me question whether or not I am still occupying my own body, until I start hearing a noise from outside my apartment. The sounds become louder as the sources advance towards my floor and soon, I begin to distinguish the voices of my band mates. 

I fail to understand their words. I can hear, though muffled, the sound of a door—my door—being struck and rammed. I hear the sound once, twice, six times… My door is very solid; It won’t budge easily. The thumping—and the repeated calling of my name, I believe—persists as I drift out of conscience, and before I pass out entirely, I perceive a sound similar to that of a siren approaching from the streets outside. Perhaps that’s just wishful thinking.


End file.
